Denial

I miss him. Sometimes. Occasionally. Now and then. But, I only miss the competition. Really, he has nothing to do with it at all. It's just that summer vacation swiftly deteriorates from mildly entertaining to somewhat dull to downright boring after being separated from him for so long. That is, being separated from the competition. And the way that he reacts to our therefore competitive encounters.

For example, the way his eyes spark. With outrage, mostly, or annoyance. Not with excitement, and definitely not with, dare I say it...attraction. Of course not. But they do turn the most fascinating shade of green when he's met with a challenge. A deep, foresty green that makes you want to go on tangents about the birth of a new spring or flawless emeralds. If you're into that sort of thing, anyway. Which I'm not.

As a matter of fact, there's nothing about him that I find remotely appealing in a romantic sense. Well, except that he is rather exceptionally good looking. But I have never admitted to being homosexual, so you have no reason to think that his good looks would really affect me at all. No reason whatsoever.

On the off chance that I was homosexual, though, that doesn't particularly mean that I'd have to be attracted to him, right? Of course not. So let's say that, hypothetically, I am homosexual. I still don't feel anything for him.

Except for gnawing irritation, that is. Yes, yes, of course. Irritation.

Excluding, of course, when I occasionally miss him.

I don't need him at all, though. Not a bit. Yes, I have admitted to missing him, but need is an entirely different verb. I don't need anyone, least of all him. So, perhaps he comes in handy now and then when I'm bored or depressed, or when the entire school and possibly world needs salvation from some dark force, but I wouldn't go so far as to say I really needed him. He's more of a household convenience. Not that I'd ever want him in my household. Or near my household. Or, God forbid, sharing my household. No! That's nonsense. Why would he be sharing my household? He wouldn't. Forget I mentioned it.

In any case, he's not necessary to perform, say, basic functions. I can get dressed and brush my teeth just fine without him. Now, maybe I do have a little trouble concentrating in class or at Quidditch practice when I haven't seen him in awhile, and there was that one episode involving a rather unyielding stone column and my poor, abused forehead, but that's a coincidence. Or, better yet, it's a product of strategic worrying. His prolonged absence at any given moment is rather dubious, if you ask me.

In fact, his absences are so dubious that, if it were me whom we were discussing, I'd be afraid that some evil plan was afoot. Wait, not afraid. That's ridiculous. Malfoys are never afraid. Apprehensive, maybe. Or suspicious. But, not afraid.

In the end, though, what it all boils down to is that I'm so efficiently aware of my surroundings that I become slightly distracted when he's not around. From wariness. Not withdrawal. Certainly not withdrawal. There's no feeling to be withdrawn from, so that would be quite impossible. After all, I really don't need him. Much.

Most importantly, I do not want him, in any way, shape, or fashion. Though, he would look rather smashing in the silver and emerald dress robes I saw at Madam Malkin's the other day...wait.

No. Not only was that ridiculously literal of me, it was false. Yes, an out and out lie. Really, would I think such a thing? How silly of you to even give vague credence to the thought. Imagine, the infamous King of the Slytherin dorms picking out clothes for some ridiculous Gryffindor. The scandal would make the headlines.

The following article would probably continue along the lines of, "Slytherin Head of House, Potions teacher Professor Snape, suffered a mental breakdown and went on a murderous rampage yesterday afternoon, killing four and injuring twenty-seven. Allegedly, his actions were caused by the heir to the great Malfoy Estate, whom he witnessed buying clothes for a young Gryffindor student. The Gryffindor in question has yet to be identified, though wild speculation abounds both at Hogwarts and in the wizarding community." Most likely, I would be dear Sevvy's first target. Especially if I ever called him that to his face.

Fortunately, though, I wouldn't even consider doing any of those cursed, Muggle-loving Gryffinsnores something which might be construed as a favor. None of them. Whatsoever. No matter how absolutely wicked they would look...or how the robe's color would set off their eyes just so...

But, luckily, I don't want anything to do with the lot of them. Especially one. Who I was definitely not thinking about while robe shopping. Ever. As such, I also don't want to stare at any of them. Or garner their attention. Or brush their adorably unkempt hair out of their eyes. Or whisper sweet nothings in their ears. Or kiss their completely, achingly sweet lips. Or...

Er. Ahem. You get the point.

Really, though, who would want to do any of that with a silly, head-strong Gryffindor? No one in their right mind, I'll tell you that much. They are, after all, so disgustingly common. Granger, with her bushy hair and snotty attitude, Weasley with his violent freckles and hand-me-down robes, and Potter...

Good lord. What sort of a name is Potter? A common one, that's what. Potter. Potter. Pot-TER. POT-ter. Hmm. POTTER. Pottére.

Harry.

Well. Fancy that. I suppose it does have somewhat of a ring to it. In the most simple, inelegant way possible, of course. It's certainly not a name to go about using every day. Your enunciation would be ruined in no time flat.

But, still, it's almost...almost...charming.

Harry. Harry Potter.

It must be getting later than I had thought. My brain is obviously beginning to malfunction. Charming? CHARMING? I mean, really, just because he's kind, and fair, and strong, and brave, and noble, and loyal, and heroic, and utterly, ravishingly handsome...

Oh, fuck it. I love him.